TRPTCH: Lefteye
by Reeve
Summary: A prequel to FLCL: Atomsk's arrival changes everything, especially where Raharu Haruha is concerned... (incomplete- future chapters currently on hold)
1. Part One

**TRPTCH  
Lefteye  
_Part One_**

"Oh Raharu, haru, haru, haru, haruuuuuuuu…"   
Amarao drooled all over the new girl on the bridge of the Bureau of Interstellar Immigration's starship. Well, not _literally_… that would be disgusting. No, he just found himself incredibly _taken_ by her, this mysterious girl with the lavender hair, ruby-red eyes, slim waist, nice ass, ample brea--   
_Ahem._   
The young agent straightened his tie, knowing full well that he was getting carried away. Maybe it was because Alpha Centauri was so fucking boring. They'd originally been called here on a tip that Medical Mechanica's steam-powered wrinkle-reducers was stirring things up on Centauri's fourth planet. The matter had been quickly and quietly taken care of, and now, they were stuck with nothing to do. Not even _paperwork_, which was especially amazing since the Stellar Police Fraternity was the most bureaucratic of all of the Galactic Government's organizations. I mean, we're talking more paper than your average library, and that's just on a daily basis.   
Sitting sideways in his chair, legs dangling over one arm, his junior assistant Gentorubami played a game on his Bandai Wonderswan, entranced by the bright colors and superdeformed sprites. The pilot of the Fraternity-maintained ship, some guy by the name of Toren, was fast asleep, having left the ship on Cruise Orbit. Raharu Haruha, the newest member of the crew, stood gazing out the large window that filled the very front of the bridge.   
With nothing better to do, Amarao stood up from his chair and walked over to Raharu, smoothing out his thick brown eyebrows with saliva-moistened fingers. He knew that his eyebrows were his power center, and he did his best to keep them neat, with every single strand smoothed back in the right direction. If he had time, of course he'd be smoothing his brows with his custom-made brush, and not doing this hasty business with his fingers.   
He_ totally_ took care of his eyebrows.   
"Raha--"   
He was cut short by the simple act of her turning around. Despite her beauty, she had an icy cold personality, which stopped men in their tracks without her uttering a word. The genetically-engineered product of staff scientist Hideaki, she had been assembled from all manner of disparate parts and fused together with a device called the Ayanami Ray. She quickly became the envy of all of the other Fraternity divisions, and they all begged Hideaki to make Raharu-types for their own ships. Hideaki politely declined all of their requests, so these departments all attempted to make their own models. The key, they all figured, was in the pastel purple hair. How wrong they were.   
"Yes, Agent Amarao?"   
He put on his Serious Face, the stern look he used when he _really_ wanted to Impress The Ladies. "I was wondering if you would care to join me for a walk?"   
"Sir, where shall we walk to?"   
"Oh, I don't know… around the ship?"   
Any other girl would've given him a strange look right about now, but this was _Raharu_. "All right. I wasn't doing anything anyway."   
She immediately started walking toward the door to the bridge, without any prompting whatsoever from Amarao. The girl was, like, an _android_ or something.   
They toured the ship, and Amarao was pleased to find that she had questions to ask of him. Apparently, there were sections of the ship she hadn't seen yet, such as the Cosmic Scooter hangar, where all manner of Piaggio, Vespa, and Lambretta scooters sat parked. As Amarao showed her all the different models, Raharu found herself drawn to a canary yellow Vespa gathering dust in one corner.   
"Ahh, do you like that scooter?"   
Raharu ran a pale index finger over the Vespa's grimy headlight. "Does no one use it?"   
"No, no one does. It's a beautiful model-- very rare-- but there's something… not right about it."   
"Something not right?"   
"They say that each Cosmic Scooter has a personality… a temperament. This particular Vespa has tried the patience of nearly every agent in this Bureau. It's very difficult to control."   
"Perhaps you just haven't found the right rider."   
"Maybe… Why, do you think it could be _you?_"   
Raharu said nothing. Amarao continued, "Listen, once we get out of this solar system, I can take you out for a spin… maybe even try you out on that Vespa. We don't want to do any riding around here in Centauri… Medical Mechanica might get the wrong idea."   
"I understand. Another time, then."   
"Yes. Now, what else haven't you seen?" 

He ended the tour in the Satellite Lounge, so named because it was a satellite docking bay before being turned into a bar and chill-out space. Among the accoutrements was a large skylight, through which the stars shone down. Amarao dimmed the lights and prepared a dry martini in an aluminum shaker, figuring that she was the bitter-drink type. He gave Raharu her glass, then seated himself next to her on the couch, a sleek modern piece of furniture that looked like it had been torn straight from the IKEA catalog. He sipped from his own drink, an invention of his that was especially sweet with melon liqueur.   
Amarao gazed over at Raharu, his eyes fondling her every curve as she took tiny sips from her martini and stared up at the stars through the ceiling. Her bangs got in her eyes as she leaned her head against the back of the couch; Amarao took the initiative and brushed them away for her. Raharu's red irises turned to look at him, the rest of her body remaining motionless, before going back to the twinking, glittery bits in the sky. Amarao leaned his head against his arm.   
"You really like the stars, don't you?"   
"Hideaki told me… that when you look at the stars, you really get a feel for the size of the universe."   
"Eh?"   
"Think about it… all of us are so small… but the stars are so big. Yet, when you're far away from them, the stars themselves become smaller than you are."   
Impressed by this philosophical exchange they were having, Amarao nodded his head solemly. "Yes. The universe really is unfathomably enormous."   
"Sometimes… I wish… that I was big, like the stars…"   
"Raharu," he said, leaning in closer to her face-- _damn_ what a pretty face!-- effectively blocking her view of the skylight. "You are the only star I need."   
"Agent Amarao?"   
"Please, just call me Amarao…"   
He covered her lips with his own, kissing her lightly, not minding that she wasn't responding. Well, at first she didn't. Then, she took his lead and returned the kisses, and when he stuck his tongue in her mouth, she followed that lead too, not once questioning where all of this was going.   
Amarao, on the other hand, knew exactly where this was going, or rather, where he was going to _take_ it. So innocent, so demure, but with a fucking hot body… how could he resist? He hooked his finger into the ring of her jumper's zipper pull and drew it downward, exposing her soft, pale skin.   
Yeah, fucking _hot_ all right.   
As his hands caressed her thighs, and his mouth wandered south of her lips, Amarao smiled. Indeed, Raharu was sweet… and lucky for him, he had a particularly voracious sweet tooth. 

Gossip was practiced silently and politely at the Bureau of Interstellar Immigration, and the rumors of Amarao and Raharu's affair was no different. Even so, Amarao was very pleased with himself, and made sure his eyebrows were in perfect order the morning after his sexual conquest of Raharu in the newly-christened Love Lounge. The next few days were fairly uneventful, with the occasional male crew member coming up to Amarao with questions concerning Raharu's performance, and they didn't mean on the job. Then, one day, the usually elusive Captain came onto the bridge to announce the new orders he received from the Fraternity.   
"We are to leave at once for Barnard's Star. Something strange has occurred there that the Fraternity wants us to investigate."   
Amarao was pumped. Finally, some action. He looked over at Raharu, thinking about their conversation in the Cosmic Scooter hangar, as well as the little somethin' somethin' he'd coax out of her in return for allowing her a ride on that persnickety yellow Vespa. Subconsciously he checked to make sure his eyebrows were in order.   
As the starship broke its orbit from Alpha Centauri's fourth planet, Amarao casually walked up to Raharu as the others on board curiously watched.   
"Raharu, would you like to take a ride?"   
He could swear that her eyes just barely lit up at that moment. "On a Cosmic Scooter?" she asked.   
"Of course. I did promise you a ride once we left this system."   
Raharu simply nodded, her face as expressionless as always.   
"All right," Amarao replied, scratching his head. He really didn't _get_ this girl. "How about now? You aren't busy, are you?"   
"No, Amarao."   
"Cool. Let's get you set up."   
Amarao took Raharu to the hangar and rummaged around for suitable riding equipment. He finally came up with a scarf the color of vanilla ice cream, a large pair of goggles, and an old racing helmet with the words "DAVIDA MOTO ENGINEERING" painted in enamel on the front. Then, he picked out a scarf, goggles, and helmet for himself, shrugged on his dingy old trench coat, and unlocked the key cabinet. For some reason, each scooter had been assigned an identifying letter, instead of the usual number, and this was how the keys were arranged. Amarao found the keys to the yellow Vepsa under the letter P. Next to the P, some joker had scribbled an exclamation point, as though to warn potential riders of the unpredictable nature of this vehicle. He picked up this set, brushing the cobwebs off of them, then plucked his own keys from the cabinet, which were assigned the letter K. After setting his key in the ignition of his own scooter, he walked over to Raharu, who was diligently cleaning the dust and grime off of the yellow Vespa with a towel she had found nearby.   
"This will be your first time riding one of these things, right?"   
"Well, I've driven land scooters before…"   
"Ahh, but these are _Cosmic_ Scooters. Aside from driving on roads, they are also capable of flight, both in planetary atmospheres and outer space. Just make sure you have your force field on before we leave the airlock, and you'll be all right."   
"Force field?"   
"Yes, so you don't get crushed by the vacuum of space."   
"How do I turn on the force field?"   
"There's a small green button, just below the RPM meter. Press it once you have your engine started."   
"All right."   
Amarao mounted his own scooter, slipped on a pair of wraparound goggles, and buttoned his trench coat. He looked over to Raharu and nodded.   
"Are you ready?"   
"Yes."   
"Let's go."   
They fired up the ignitions of their respective scooters and sped out of the hangars, into the blackness of space. 

Amarao cruised half the time, watching Raharu's progress with the Vespa out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to be handling the machine quite well, her wrists twisting and flinching to accommodate for the Cosmic Scooter's frequent sputters and power fluctuations. Indeed, she was a natural.   
Traveling at warp speed, Barnard's Star was only a few Galactic-hours away. As the star's planets came into his field of vision, Amarao got to wondering: why the hell were they called to this backwater system? There was no native intelligent life on any of Barnard's planets; hell, none of the planets could even support intergalactic mining bases. There was a maximum security prison on Barnard's fourth planet, but it had been a few hundred years since the wardens abandoned the place and left all the prisoners to die. Even Medical Mechanica avoided this nowhere land. Amarao groaned. This place was going to be even more boring than Alpha Centauri.   
Then, as they passed through the orbit path of Barnard's third planet, Raharu slammed on her breaks. The yellow Vespa squooshed into a bubbly mass from inertia, only to immediately snap back into its rigid metal form.   
Amarao picked up a walkie-talkie from his scooter's small dashboard.   
"Raharu! Wha--"   
He stopped in his tracks and followed her eyes, and his ears. Despite the universal vacuum, the sound was deafening, and quite unmistakable. It was the sound of a thousand taut piano strings bursting all at once, echoing throughout a performance space billions of times larger than Carnegie Hall. The amplifier of Barnard's Star pulsed and gurgled like liquid in Amarao's infrared goggles; he felt as though, instead of a star, he was looking at an egg with a soft magma shell.   
The collective scream of a million pissed-off dolphins was the next wave of sound to hit their ears as the star grew brighter and developed a distinct pimple in its southern hemisphere.   
"Raharu! The star! Let's get out of--"   
But she wasn't listening. Her Vespa just hung there in the third planet's orbit, obeying the static will of its rider, who was staring at the star.   
He started hyperventilating, telling himself over and over again, Don't panic, don't panic. As an Immigration Agent of the Fraternity, "Don't Panic" was the first lesson he ever received. Needless to say, he had a hard time believing such theoretical psychological bullshit now.   
Amarao pulled his Vespa up next to Raharu's in an attempt to speak to her in person. Her unshielded eyes were captivated by the star's unusual activity.   
"Raharu, are you nuts? Put your fucking goggles on! You're gonna go blind!"   
At that moment, Raharu slowly turned her head. Amarao drew a gasp as he saw her eyes. They were completely white.   
What Amarao found even more shocking was the fact that in the brief second before she reared her yellow steed and split for the zit on Barnard's face, the edge of her mouth curled up into a _smirk_. 

TWO MONTHS LATER: 

Temporarily suspended from his duties, Amarao largely confined himself to his quarters. All this time later and they were _still_ in the _cho_-boring Barnard system, the small collective of scientists on board studying the anomaly that popped out of the star the day Raharu disappeared. They argued and debated in the Love Lounge, reclining in Poäng chairs while Amarao flipped through back issues of various fanzines while laying on his bunk. Eventually he began drifting off to sleep, issues of the irreverent Philly hip-hop zine _On The Go_ and Japanese schoolgirl fashion bible _Egg_ draped over his face and chest. _Egg?!_ No wonder he had been thinking in outdated _kogyaru_ slang these days.   
Amarao tossed the magazines aside and gazed at his uglified mug in the mirror. He had enough scruff on his muff to puff up his fluff, but at least his eyebrows were in order! _Proppps!!!_   
He stood up and kicked the magazines on the floor, saving his hardest kicks for the _On The Go_s. Amarao trudged into the bathroom where he showered and shaved, figuring that the last thing he wanted to do was to fall into a state of utter immobility. As he came out of the bathroom, his waist wrapped in a towel, the door to his quarters slid open. Hideaki stood there, his face devoid of any emotion. Amarao just stared at him, his pupils becoming tiny little black dots in two vastly enlarged white spheres. His irises, in the meantime, had gone AWOL.   
"Let me tell you what's been going on," Hideaki said as he stepped into the room, the door sliding closed behind him.   
Amarao tried to argue, "Can I at least get some clothes on first?" but Hideaki wasn't paying attention. Hideaki's presence was commanding, all-encompassing, and unnecessarily melodramatic. In other words, he disregarded any and all interruptions, no matter how sensible they may seem to the other party. Amarao sighed, letting it slide, fall by the wayside as the scientist eyed the condemned-due-to-a-joyride Fraternity agent, a snide manner to his hide.   
"A few million years ago," Hideaki began, "a great civilization flourished, the likes of which no one had ever seen before, or has seen since. The heart of this civilization lay in the tightly packed solar systems of the Core Stars, with little regard given to outer rim systems such as this one. Very few-- if any-- of the cultural and technological feats of this civilization are with us today, so any new finds are highly prized, both by the Galactic Government and our foes at Medical Mechanica.   
"What was in that star was the only known living member of that civilization. Even though he is but one being, he has incredible power, rivaling that of a god… You _have_ heard of the legend of the Pirate King, Atomsk?"   
Duh. _Everyone_ knows _that_ story. Of course, his reply to Hideaki didn't quite match these thoughts.   
"Yes, I believe I've heard of Atomsk. Why do you ask?"   
"Because the star we are in orbit around now was once known as 6-C372."   
"You don't mean that… that bump on the side of the star--"   
"That was the Pirate King escaping from his 'eternal prison'."   
Jaw slack, a dumbfounded Amarao slowly sat down on his bunk while Hideaki began pacing around the room. The Pirate King Atomsk was just a character in a children's story, right? Right?!   
The scientist continued, "I have just gotten out of a meeting with my peers. Unfortunately, we did not foresee the possibility of Atomsk actually getting loose, especially since our mission in this system concerned the old prison on the fourth planet, not the legendary one inside the star. Nevertheless, the loss of Raharu cannot be overlooked. The consortium is, needless to say, calling for your permanent expulsion from the Fraternity. They will recommend it to the Immigration Council at the next session."   
Amarao bristled at this notion. Then a thought occurred to him, and he pinched his immaculate eyebrows together in a classic Eastwood glare.   
"Well, what's the big deal? We lost Raharu-- so what? I've heard rumors that you actually have a whole big stockpile of Raharu clones buried away in your laboratory, your main nerve center. I mean, what was her purpose, anyway?"   
Not once breaking out of his stern demeanor, Hideaki answered, "You mean besides being a hot piece of subservient ass?"   
"Well… yeah."   
"And this whole business about 'Raharu clones'… what nonsense. I suppose you _want_ to believe in such a ridiculous urban legend."   
"Why do you say that?"   
"Now that you no longer have Raharu around to fuck, you need a replacement."   
The harsh "fuck" that rolled off of Hideaki's tongue stung Amarao where it hurt him the most… between his eyebrows. Trying to remain cool and collected, he waved it off. "No, no… that's not what I mean. The fact remains that since you have the Ayanami Ray, you can make another Raharu if you want. If I were you, I'd be more worried about the Vespa than Raharu. That was a vintage 180 Super Sport, a model which is no longer manufactured. Do you know how hard it is to find one of those machines nowadays? _Especially_ in canary yellow!"   
"What does it matter? That scooter was a piece of garbage."   
"Whatever. Back to my original question, please? Why did you make Raharu? Who is she?"   
"Who is Raharu?"   
"Yes, who is she, or rather, _what_ is she?"   
"Who is she?" Hideaki mused. "Who is she? Who is she?"   
"This is starting to get repetitive."   
"Well, who is she to _you?_"   
Amarao sighed as a dreamy expression sprinkled glittery stars in his eyes, widened his mouth into a grin, and stirred new life into his loins. "She's an angel."   
Hideaki grimaced. The fluorescent light reflected off the tinted lenses of his glasses, completely obscuring his eyes as he turned around and pressed the small panel which opened the door.   
His voice bordering between evangelical and certifiably insane, Hideaki intoned, "Watch your words, Agent Amarao. They may come back to haunt you." 

* * *

Completed April 2003 | Copyright 2003, Reeve. 


	2. Part Two

**TRPTCH  
Lefteye  
_Part Two_**

Four months after the loss of Raharu and Cosmic Vespa #BII-P!, the Bureau of Interstellar Immigration's starship returned to the Fraternity's home planet, GX. What this meant for Agent Amarao was that his suspension was over, and he would be free to carry out whatever pending obligations he had back at headquarters. This was contrary to what he'd expected: a trial, with nine old men in black robes prepared to ship his ass to the furthest, crummiest outpost in the Galaxy. Instead, he walked off the ship with little fanfare.   
His eyebrows twitched. Something, he thought, was up. 

The following day, he made his way to the large, shiny, Gehry-esque building that served as Interstellar Immigration's headquarters, ready to settle in to a boring desk job until the next intergalactic mission came up. First, he thought, he would do the proper thing and file a report on the Barnard incident; secondly, he would--   
Amarao stopped dead in his tracks. In the sunny plaza that lay before HQ, a girl, whose short gray hair was lightly flecked with random streaks of lavender and pink, caught his attention. She wore a smart-looking blue jacket, pale blue tie, checkered skirt, navy designer socks, and an odd metal bracelet with a single chain link hanging off of it. Standing in the middle of a crowd of men and women, she fended off their various admiration with the utmost politeness and elegance. She looked in Amarao's direction; her hazel eyes conveying a supreme intelligence... and perhaps something else. Yet it was not the eyes, but rather, the _shape_ of the eyes that first tipped him off. He ran up to her, shouting, "Raharu!"   
"Raharu?" she asked, quizzically. "I'm afraid you have me mistaken for someone else. My name is Ruhara. Ruhara Harukoru. And you are...?"   
"Agent Amarao of the Bureau of Interstellar Immigration, remember?" he answered. "Listen--"   
"Interstellar Immigration, did you say?" Ruhara interrupted. "What a coincidence! I work for Interstellar Immigration too!"   
"What? That's not possible! You must have just started out, that is unless you--"   
"Started out?" Ruhara huffed. "I've been with this agency for five months now!"   
"_Five months?!_" Amarao exclaimed. "But that would mean you started at the Bureau the same time as Raharu did!"   
"Who's this 'Raharu' you keep talking about?"   
"Nobody! Listen, just... forget it, okay? I've gotta go. Maybe we'll run into each other again sometime." Amarao trudged away from "Ruhara", musing over their exchange. He remembered the rumors about the Raharu clones and wondered if this girl was one of them. He shook his head, knowing that this wasn't possible. She was just too different. It wasn't only the eyes and the hair, but her personality as well. Maybe it was just some really odd coincidence.   
Then, a certain image came into his brain and he realized that he should have paid more attention at the time. When she said that last statement, she _smirked_. This "Ruhara" was indeed more than meets the eye; she was a deceptive con, all right...   
"Amarao!"   
He looked to his right. Hideaki stood there, beside one of the lion cub statues that flanked the entrance to the building. The agent gritted his teeth, and his eyebrows shivered, if such a thing were possible. This pretentious asshole was the absolute last person he wanted to see right now.   
"You starting back at work today?"   
"Yeah. Why?"   
"Doing anything afterwards?"   
"No. Why?"   
"You should come over to my house for dinner. There's something I need to discuss with you, but it can't be done here at work."   
"Huh. Why not?"   
"It has to do with that incident... you know the one I mean."   
Amarao glared at Hideaki. _Not this shit again._ "Right. So, dinner."   
"Yes. Here's my address," Hideaki said, scribbling something on the back of a business card. "My house is in the Yukinon district... not too far from here. It's a ten minute walk from Soichiro Station, so you should have no problems in getting there."   
Amarao took the card from Hideaki. He looked at the address and nodded. "Right. What time?"   
"How about six-thirty?"   
"Sounds good to me."   
"Oh, and don't worry about bringing anything."   
_Wasn't going to. Worry, I mean. Nor bring anything, I mean._ "Okay."   
"See you then." Hideaki bowed very slightly and walked inside the building. _Still his usual cold self_, Amarao thought, _though he did seem a little more relaxed today. How peculiar..._

Amarao arrived at Hideaki's house at around a quarter past six and knocked on the door. His day had been disappointingly uneventful. There'd been tons of paperwork to go through, but it was all busy work... useless beaurocratic drivel that needed to be filled out in triplicate, and quadruplicate, and quintuplicate and... whatever came after quintuplicate. Spending his day at the local arcade in front of a busted Skee-ball machine would have been more productive.   
The door swung open and Hideaki answered, wearing an apron decorated with a picture of a chick and the words "Piyo Piyo" written above. His face bore his typical deadpan expression.   
"Come in. Dinner will be ready in about half an hour."   
Amarao followed Hideaki inside, slipping out of his shoes in the entranceway. After a brief tour of the house, Hideaki told Amarao that he had to get back to his cooking, and promptly disappeared into the kitchen.   
Not knowing what else to do, Amarao wandered into the living room. He examined the bookshelves, which were filled with numerous volumes on genetic engineering and other areas of science. However, what Amarao found most peculiar were the nonscientific books and magazines mixed in with these staid tomes: back issues of _Replicant Works_, _FRUiTS_, and _Tokion_; a doujinshi catalog from the previous year's Comic Market; thick Phaidon art and design books; numerous gashapon figurines.   
"Find anything interesting?"   
He looked up to see a lanky man around his age standing idly in the door frame; his dark, mischievous eyes watching Amarao from underneath a mass of limp blond hair. The man bowed his head in greeting. "My apologies for interrupting your train of thought. I'm Kazuya, Hideaki's lab assistant. But please, call me Hideaki."   
"No, you may not call him Hideaki!" Hideaki called from the kitchen.   
"Ohhh, why not, Hideaki?" Kazuya whined, rubbing his chest saucily. "You're never any fun! I wanna be Hideaki too!"   
Hideaki didn't answer.   
"So! Anyway," Kazuya said as he turned his attention back to Amarao. "Kazuya." He held out his hand for Amarao to shake, which the latter did, not without hesitation.   
"Hey, what's up with you? I don't bite, you know." Kazuya lowered his voice by an octave. "At least, not unless I feel like it."   
With a wink to Amarao, Kazuya plucked a rose from the vase on the coffee table and slipped the stem between his teeth. Then, like some manic lambada dancer, he pranced out of the living room, toward the kitchen. It took the dumbstruck Amarao at least a minute before he was able to regain gravitational control over his lower jaw.   
"Who the fuck was _that?!_" 

Roughly half an hour later, dinner was served. Amarao found himself sitting across from Hideaki and Kazuya, his back to the doorway, and an empty plate to his right. Fast asleep on the chair set in front of this plate was a strange animal that appeared to be half-penguin and half-dog, which Kazuya explained was Penpero, a housepet. In between bites of Hideaki's surprisingly excellent rigatoni, Amarao asked him who the extra place setting was for.   
As the scientist began to answer, a voice called out from the front entranceway, "I'm ho-ome!" Amarao recognized it immediately and twisted his body around that his line of vision went from zero to 180 degrees in less than four seconds. The so-called "Ruhara" was standing there, taking her shoes off. She walked into the dining room, where she carefully removed the sleeping Penpero and sat down in its place.   
"You're just in time," Hideaki said.   
"Hey, you didn't tell me we were having guests over!" Ruhara replied as she spooned some pasta onto her plate. "I kind of expected to see Kazuyin, but..."   
Hideaki pointed a fork at his other guest. "You remember him, don't you?"   
"Of course! Agent Amarao of the Bureau of Interstellar Immigration, the poorly-endowed son-of-a-bitch," she said in her bright, intelligent tone; inflected in such a way as to accentuate its falseness.   
Amarao, who had been silent ever since her entrance, suddenly felt compelled to blurt out, "Wha? _Poorly-endowed?!_"   
"By the way, if you couldn't tell, I do remember you. I just couldn't admit it at the time."   
"So you _are_ Raharu!"   
Ruhara shrugged. "If you like."   
"How did you--"   
"On the yellow Vespa, of course."   
"When did you--"   
"Not long before you did."   
"What happened to--"   
"The Pirate King?" Ruhara smiled cryptically.   
"Yeah."   
"Can't tell you."   
Polishing off the last of her meal, Ruhara rose from her seat, then bent down to pick up Penpero-- still fast asleep-- from off the floor. She told the others that she'll be in her room for a little while, and will join them again for dessert.   
Amarao watched her disappear down the hallway, then turned back to the table in time to catch Hideaki and Kazuya exchanging quick glances to each other. He glared at the two scientists suspiciously. "What do _you_ guys know about this whole incident?"   
Hideaki leaned back, chin up, so that his glasses caught the light in that disturbing, all-encompassing manner. "As you know, many of the Fraternity's starships have tried to create their own versions of our Ayanami Ray-fused young woman here. What they fail to understand is the _reasoning_ behind her creation. I swear, such misinterpretations have been the death of me."   
"So then... why was Ruha-- I mean, Raharu, created?"   
Kazuya smiled brightly, his eyes twinkling with the essence of romance. "She is a vessel, one yearning to be filled with all that the universe can offer her, eventually to discover her true, whole, self."   
Hideaki added, "That is all we can tell you... for now."   
What Kazuya and Hideaki had told Amarao had, in his mind, amounted to very little. Weren't all young women-- nay, all _human beings_-- empty vessels to be filled, be it with love, friendship, hopes, dreams, or numerous other intangibles? This explanation of theirs was all too... _poetic..._   
And there were few things Amarao hated more than poetry. 

At work the following day, Amarao found himself being invited to-- and subsequently attending-- a demonstration of the latest technological wonder to come out of Fraternity Labs. It was a new form of teleportation, as the email announcing the lecture boldly declared; one that was unlike any that had ever been invented before. Previous technologies were simply too unstable, usually resulting in matter being scrambled into unrecognizable forms; but now, Fraternity Labs claimed to have solved this problem once and for all. Amarao, being _mildly_ interested, decided to check it out.   
"Hi everyone, and welcome to the Fraternity Labs demonstration hall!" said a middle-aged man on stage as Amarao took his seat. All around him were dweeby-looking guys and girls, all wearing white lab coats, pocket protectors, and glasses. Then, one of them waved at him. To his surprise, he saw that it was Ruhara. She was in a dweeb outfit like all the others, but it was, in an odd way, _elegantly_ dweeby. Amarao waved back, and Ruhara, apparently pleased by this reaction, turned her attention to the two men up on the stage.   
"Allow me to introduce myself," the middle-aged man said, casually removing his microphone from its stand. "I'm Paul and this is my research partner Jimmy."   
Jimmy, a tall black man with a huge 'fro, held up his hand in greeting and nodded.   
"Now I'm sure you all are intrigued to find out what we here at F.L. have to show you. Is it true, you may be thinking, that F.L. has come up with a way to teleport materials-- even living materials-- without running the risk of mutation? To that question, the answer is a resounding 'yes!'"   
Amarao found himself entertained by the informal nature of the speaker. Perhaps this thing wasn't going to be as boring as he thought.   
Then, Paul pumped his fist in the air and shouted, "Ladies and gentlemen of the Stellar Police Fraternity, are you ready to _ROCK?!_"   
This shout-out was met with rabid enthusiasm by the scientists in the audience, and they all rose from their seats and streamed toward the stage while the curtains behind Paul and Jimmy were drawn, revealing a veritable menagerie of machines mixed in with an assortment of electric guitars, basses, lawnmowers, and weed whackers.   
"This," Paul said, indicating a black guitar which Jimmy had picked up, "is a 1964 L-Series Fender Stratocaster."   
"Pre-CBS-Fender corporate buyout," Jimmy added.   
"Not a common guitar by any means," Paul continued. "But what's really unusual about this Strat is the hardware we've added on. Jimmy, show 'em the back of the soundboard."   
The research partner did as he was told, and a jumbled mix of murmurs spread through the crowd. Amarao, caught in the thick mass of dweebery, squinted to get a better look. Mounted on the back of the guitar was what appeared to be some sort of ripcord. He raised one of his immaculate eyebrows in curiosity.   
As Paul and Jimmy described the customized Strat's features in lengthy, technological detail, Amarao tried to pick up on what the hell they were talking about, but found himself failing miserably. Something about the vibration of a ripcord motor combined with certain string tunings on an unplugged electric guitar or bass creating a distortion in the fabric of physical space, using a condensed form of energy known as N.O. Though Amarao thought the combination of guitars and garden tools was a bit weird, he was not about to dismiss this technology altogether. Fraternity Labs were, after all, the same division who made Italian scooters suitable vehicles for interstellar travel. Thus, he politely nodded and mm-hmmed along with the crowd of dorks.   
After the science lesson, Paul asked for volunteers from the audience to help him demonstrate this teleportation system. Among the clamoring nerds chanting "ooh ooh ooh" like a zooful of monkeys, Amarao happened to spot Ruhara hesitatingly raise her hand.   
"Yes, you!" Paul said, pointing directly at her. "Our esteemed colleague Ruhara! Come on down! You're the next contestant on... oh, never mind."   
As Amarao wondered what Paul meant by "esteemed colleague", Ruhara moved through the sweating, drooling masses as elegantly as she could, doing her best to ignore the teeming nerd flesh staring at her on either side. She took the stage, where Jimmy handed her a customized blue Rickenbacker bass.   
"Now, I need another volunteer!" Paul announced. "Who wants to join this lovely young lady up here on stage?"   
As the monkeys began their jibber-jabber once more, Amarao calmly raised his hand and held it there. Paul turned to Ruhara, apparently asking her to pick out a second volunteer. Guitar strap nestled on her shoulder and around her back, Ruhara gripped the neck of the bass in her right hand and pointed out to the crowd like a rock star. "I choose you, Amarao!"   
"Chu--?" Amarao stuttered. "O-- okay."   
He made his way to the stage. When he got there, instead of handing him an instrument, Jimmy directed him to a folding chair set up in the middle of the stage and asked him to sit down. Paul walked over to him and explained the procedure to the crowd.   
"Now, if you all remember correctly, first the N.O. portal has to be activated by the Callosial Pick." He held up a thin, triangular wafer for everyone in the room to see. "The Pick has to be administered orally. And since the biological carrier of the portal must also be in a highly emotional state in order for the teleportation to work, I must ask Miss Ruhara to transfer the pick to our other volunteer by means of a kiss."   
A collective gasp ran through the pimply-faced room. Amarao folded his arms across his chest and grinned. This was going to be better than he thought. Glancing over at Ruhara, he could see that her cheeks had flushed a slight pink, but otherwise, she remained calm.   
As Paul walked over to Ruhara and handed her the Pick, Amarao turned his attention back to the audience, which was doubtless salivating in jealousy over his good fortune. He pitied these fools, really; if only they had eyebrows that looked half as good as his, then they might have been picked by Ruhara instead.   
Ruhara slipped the Pick into her mouth and walked over to Amarao, stopping directly in front of him. She regarded him thoughtfully, hand on her chin, eyes examining every part of him. Then, after setting the Rickenbacker on the floor, she clamped his hands on his shoulders and straddled his legs, slowly easing her way up to his pelvis, where he began to stir. His pulse quickened even more as her supple breasts pressed up against his chest, and she took his head-- the one on his shoulders, that is-- in her hands. She pinched her eyes shut and dove for his lips, pushing the Callosial Pick into his mouth with her tongue.   
After an extended minute-long liplock, Ruhara promptly dismounted, picked up the Rickenbacker by the neck, and turned to Paul. "I'm done. Shall I proceed with the activation?"   
Paul nodded and looked over at Amarao, who was sitting languidly, a satisfied grin on his face. "Absolutely." Turning back to the audience, Paul said, "Now to activate the portal, Ruhara here will smack the head of our other volunteer with the body of her bass guitar.   
"_What?!_" Amarao yelled.   
"It'll only hurt for a second," Paul told him, trying to sound reassuring. The corners of Ruhara's mouth twitched upwards as he said this.   
"That's not the point!" Amarao protested. "This is crazy! I know this technology is supposed to be revolutionary and all, but--"   
**_BWAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNG!_**   
Amarao found himself sailing out of his chair to the cold linoleum of the stage. Through his blurred vision, he could make out the form of Ruhara staring down at him, holding the neck of the bass like a major-league slugger who'd just hit a pop-fly to center field. As he struggled to keep his eyes open, he heard Paul say, "Now that the portal has been activated, we will attempt to pull a wild pelican from the GX National Zoo out of this man's head."   
"I certainly hope this works," Ruhara told Paul. Amarao flinched. Why would she care?   
Then, all of a sudden, a sharp pain hit the front of his skull, like the worst sinus headache he'd ever had in his life. Ruhara leaned over Amarao, staring at his forehead.   
"I apologize for dragging you into this, Amarao, but I believe your head just might be perfect for… certain practical applications of this technology."   
"Ow!-- W-- what do you mean? And how do these guys know you?"   
"I worked part-time on this project."   
"While working full-time at Intersellar Immigration?-- ow!-- You overachiever! I'm impressed!"   
"Hmm," Ruhara replied as she placed her hand over Amarao's forehead and pulled something out. As the pain subsided, he heard the tinny screech of a bird.   
He heard Ruhara sigh, as if to herself; "It's too small. And I have a feeling it's just _not_ going to get any bigger. Poorly-endowed in more ways than one…"   
Amarao struggled to sit up, and saw Ruhara kneeling off to one side, holding a tiny pelican, no larger than a standard incandescent lightbulb, in the palms of her hand. Paul and Jimmy were looking down at the bird from over her shoulders.   
"Oh well," Paul sighed. "I guess it doesn't work with just anyone."   
Though Amarao was slightly insulted by this, he kept his cool, well aware of the totally uncool crowd before them.   
Paul stumbled away from the others and picked up the microphone once more. "Well, uhh... as you can see, our research has been coming along... rather well. Our target wasn't mutated, as promised... he's just a little... small." The once-amped nerds began to file out of the room, murmuring their disappointment. "Hey everyone! Where're you all going? Come back! _Damn_ it!"   
As Paul and Jimmy ran out of the room in a vain attempt to get their audience back, Amarao felt a soft, feminine hand touch his forehead.   
"Are you all right?"   
Turning his head slightly, he saw a concerned Ruhara still kneeling beside him, holding onto the miniaturized pelican.   
"Yes... just a little disoriented, that's all."   
"Oh. Well, anyway, I just wanted to apologize for that."   
"Heh, it's no problem," Amarao answered as he struggled to stand. "You were just following instructions, after all."   
"Still, it must have come as a shock to you."   
He dusted himself off and escorted Ruhara toward the exit. "It sure did. I didn't think your swing was that good. You should play baseball."   
Ruhara gave him a blank expression. "I was talking about the kiss..."   
"Huh?"   
Now that they were outside, she stared up at the sky, which was completely covered in thick, gray clouds. The single chain link on her bracelet rattled slightly in the wind. "Anyway, I have a lot of things to do this afternoon. I'll see you tomorrow?"   
"S-- sure."   
Ruhara bowed slightly, then ran off into the large park that sat in the middle of the Fraternity's complex of buildings. Amarao shook his head, then started off back toward the main Interstellar Immigration building. On his way there, he passed by a pair of tall mecha with large hands and the Medical Mechanica logo imprinted on their chest plates. He turned back to stare at them in disbelief, finding that other passersby were doing the same. What was Medical Mechanica doing here, on this world? Even as he reassured himself that it was probably due to some minor diplomatic dispute, his subconscious told him differently, and he felt a hard pit form in his stomach and remain there, even after the two mecha had completely disappeared from his field of vision. 

* * *

Completed May 2004 | Copyright 2004, Reeve. 


End file.
